


Pronunciation

by ros3bud009



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Differences, Gen, Is It Shippy or Friendship? You Decide, Lost Light Goes To An Alien Ball, M/M, Mispronunciation Issues, a silly little something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: Rodimus didn’t seem to notice or care though as he stood at the top of the decadent stairs, grinning wide as he waved down at the crowd. And Ultra Magnus tried. He really did.But Rodimus was about to descend the stairs and the Herald had made a mistake and Ultra Magnus couldn’t just let it go.





	Pronunciation

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, gang. I wrote this because I came to the horrifying realization the other week that this whole time I thought Nyon was pronounced like nyah
> 
> You know, nyah
> 
> But I was quickly informed that everyone else assumed it was some variation of Nie-on
> 
> So I guess I did this as a coping mechanism lmao. Because listen. There's a lot of places where the typical pronunciation is not the way people who are from there pronounce it. Nevada, New Orleans, etc etc

Ultra Magnus _really_ wished that Rodimus had turned down the Grigg ambassador’s invitation to the upcoming New Cycle Ball. Yes, the Lost Light crew had managed to save their capital city so it was expected that they should offer something in gratitude, but Ultra Magnus would have rather they politely turn down the invitation and stay their course.

But if there was one thing that Rodimus didn’t know how to turn down, it was a party invitation.

So there Ultra Magnus found himself, to the side and just behind his Captain, waiting in the line of dignitaries, nobilities, and politicians to be announced by the ball’s herald.

For all that the Grigg and their culture were alien, the rigid scaffolding of upper class tradition was still familiar in ways that set Minimus on edge and he was grateful that at least he could cushion the oppressive dread with Ultra Magnus.

And, truthfully, Rodimus looked fit to burst with excitement. Where Ultra Magnus was stiff, Rodimus was barely restrained motion, and where Ultra Magnus frowned, Rodimus’ face was nearly split with his prideful grin.

The ball meant different things to them. For Minimus it was a reminder of the thousands he had been dragged to in the past as an Ambus. Balls _weren’t_ fun. Balls were sociopolitical work that filled Minimus with quiet dread as he never really figured out how to fulfill his objectives successfully.

But for Rodimus, it was the stuff of fairytales. It was glitz and glamor; it was beautiful beings with easy access to decadent food and drink and music; it was _fun_.

So Ultra Magnus was trying to be flexible.

For Rodimus, he could be flexible.

And truthfully, tonight somehow actually was about _fun_. There was no political gain to be sought or networking to engage in. It didn’t matter if they followed the unspoken rules and expectations, or what dignitaries would say about them behind their backs. This ball wasn’t actually important for anything else than for Rodimus to take a moment to bask in the attention and for the rest of the crew to let loose.

So Ultra Magnus would just follow along.

Ultra Magnus would be flexible—

“From Cybertron, Captain Rodimus Prime of Nyon!”

—Except that Ultra Magnus could not have kept his teeth from grinding at such an obvious error.

Rodimus didn’t seem to notice or care though as he stood at the top of the decadent stairs, grinning wide as he waved down at the crowd. And Ultra Magnus _tried_. He really did.

But Rodimus was about to descend the stairs and the Herald had made a mistake and Ultra Magnus couldn’t just let it _go_.

“One moment, Captain,” Ultra Magnus said, gently grasping Rodimus by the upper arm to stop him. One pede was frozen in the air, poised to take that first step down the stairs, and Rodimus looked up at Ultra Magnus curiously.

“What’s up, Mags? You change your mind and want to get announced too?” Rodimus asked, clearly amused. He turned his attention back to the Herald who was considering them with only a polite level of questioning. “Sorry to be that guy, but could you do another one real quick? This is—well, actually, which name do you want to—”

“ _No_ ,” Ultra Magnus refused quickly, having absolutely _no_ interest in being introduced by a Herald ever again. However, he did also turn towards the Herald. “There was an error in pronunciation that should be corrected.”

The Herald’s single eye went wide as he immediately offered, “My mistake, sirs. Please let me—”

“It’s fine!” Rodimus interrupted, reaching up his servo to pat Ultra Magnus’s where it grasped his opposite arm. “It’s not a big deal, seriously, so let’s just—”

“Please, I insist, sir.”

“It’s his job to announce you correctly,” Ultra Magnus insisted as well before addressing the Herald. “The city is pronounced Nie-ohn. Two syllables.”

“Ah, my apologies. I must have misheard—”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Rodimus interrupted again, this time placing his servo on the Herald’s shoulder, careful with the organic. “As much as I love the idea of being announced twice, I’m gonna have to ask that you don’t. Come on, Magnus, we’re holding up the line—”

“But the mistake needs to be corrected.”

“It really doesn’t—”

“Your Second is correct, sir. It would be a great disrespect to you if I—”

“It wasn’t a mistake!” Rodimus said, exasperated. When the Herald and Ultra Magnus both stared at him, the Captain’s shoulders dropped with an ex-vent as he looked at Ultra Magnus. “It’s pronounced Nyohn. One syllable.”

Ultra Magnus would have sworn he felt the marble floor shift under him.

“No, it’s not.”

“I think I know how to pronounce the name of my birthplace.”

“But—I’ve always—”

“Don’t worry about it, Mags,” Rodimus said, and where Ultra Magnus felt incredulous shock, Rodimus had the audacity to looked amused as he tugged Ultra Magnus’s servo from his upper arm to rest in the crook of his elbow. “Literally everyone gets it wrong. Always have, always will.”

Rodimus started to move down the stairs and Ultra Magnus followed, shock giving way to embarrassment.

“But you’ve never corrected me.”

“I don’t correct anybody anymore. It gets annoying after a while being a one-mech army of mechs who are actually Of Nyon and know how to pronounce it.”

“But—but I’ve been _wrong_ ,” Ultra Magnus despaired. His pedes came to a standstill, cementing him to the spot halfway down the stairs, his spark weighed down with shame and guilt.

Rodimus looked up at him – and it was up quite a ways since Ultra Magnus was stood one step up from him, exaggerating the already large height difference between them – and ex-vented with exasperation.

“Listen, I get it, you’re a stickler for being right, but it’s fine. At this point the wrong pronunciation might as well be officially right.”

“Correct pronunciation is not about being right or official, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus insisted as he lifted his other servo to press against his chest, over his aching spark. “Pronunciation a matter of showing respect.”

Rodimus blinked, mouth opening but nothing coming out, leaving room for Ultra Magnus to continue.

“I’ve been wrong because I’ve been showing you and your heritage a great disrespect, and I cannot express my regret over that enough.”

Rodimus closed his mouth, worked his intake, and then opened it again to say, “You didn’t know.”

“That’s no excuse.”

After a moment, Rodimus ex-vented again, but this time there was something relieved in the side.

“Then how about this. We make it a two-mech army and all will be forgiven.”

And Ultra Magnus nearly lost the battle to keep a smile from his face. Judging by the sparkle of Rodimus’s optics, the movements of his face still managed to give him away.

“It would be an honor to correct incorrect pronunciations with you, Captain.”

Rodimus snorted, shaking his head as he turned and they started down the stairs again, Ultra Magnus catching up so they walked side by side, his servo still caught in the crook of Rodimus’s elbow.

“Also you owe me at least three dances tonight.”

“That would be inappropriate.”

“C’mon, it’s just ballroom dancing. There’s nothing inappropriate about it.”

“I assure you that there absolutely can be.”

“Fine. One scandalous dance.”

“Rodimus…”

“You get to walk around calling my home Nie-ohn for millions of years and you can’t even spare _one_ scandalous ballroom dance?”

With a tired ex-vent, Ultra Magnus agreed, knowing that by the end of the night Rodimus will have probably dragged his intended three out of him.

Fortunately, dancing was the one thing Minimus liked about going to a ball.


End file.
